Easin' on Down the Road

Wow. Just got back from church after having not gone for the past 7 or so years. I had tried a couple of times to start going back to church, but the guilt of having left in the first place made me feel like I didn’t really have a right to ask to be a part of it again. You see, I used to go to church every Sunday from the age of zero, all the way to the age of 23. There were the 4 years of college, and though I wasn’t a regularly-attending parishioner at the church next to campus (St. Mary’s), I went a few times. But that’s different; college was my way of getting out from under my parents rules and doing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. They made me go to church, they made me take dance, they MADE me be in band, so not going to church was just all a part of that. When I got back to Seguin, I just found it all again my own way. I even taught high school CCD classes for 2 or three years after college. The reason? I’ve always felt like it’s important to have that baseline faith.

Faith is really difficult to explain, but I think that when you have it, (or when it’s been placed on you for the first, formative decade in your life), it’s just a part of who you are. You can deny it, try to shut it out, and go about your life like it doesn’t matter, but invariably, when shit hits the fan, or when someone wonderful plops into your lap, it’s just reflex to think (or sometimes say) “Thank you God!” or “Help me God!”, whichever is more relevant to your situation. I think that’s key. The worst kind of feeling when you need help, or even just help rejoicing, is when you feel completely alone. No one is there to help you, or pat you on the back. I think, during those times, your faith matters the most, and as long as you have that faith, you’ll be OK. When I taught CCD I wasn’t all heavy-handed w/abstinence and other schlock you don’t want to hear when you’re a young adult. I just wanted to be practical about the fact that their faith is a resource, it makes you stronger, and even though right now you think you’ve got everything all figured out and nothing bad will ever happen to you, if/when you need it, it’s going to be there for you.

Ahhhh, but to practice what I preached. For years now I felt like a charlatan, but with my latest really stupid decision, I’ve been pushed more and more to go back to my faith. Not only by those I seek counsel from, but in other ways as well. I wanted to go to church last weekend. I looked up the info, kinda figured out where the church in San Marcos was, but I’ve been a bit of a shut-in lately. Everytime I made plans I would somehow just end up on my bed, watching TV or falling asleep. This, kids, is called depression (de-pre-shun) and it’s held me captive in my apartment for about 3 weeks now. So what happened today? Yesterday I went to Seguin, the usual 3 hour tour, and just hung out w/my grandma a bit. She showed me her little alters, which are dedicated to all of her kids and grandkids (and now great grandkids). She lights candles and prays for us all the time. That really humbled me.

Last night, as I was attempting to stave off the panic attack that peaks nightly, I took two sleeping pills. I always keep ice water next to my bed, b/c there’s nothing worse than being thirsty at night. Well, last night I was so groggy I must’ve knocked it over in my sleep b/c this morning I suddenly felt wet on my left side. My first thought was that Rootie had puked again in the night, but when I discovered it had no odor, I realized my bed was full of ice water. This was sufficient to wake me up entirely, had me look at the clock and read 7:07 am. The first thought that popped into my head was that I could make the 8 o’clock mass. And so I did.

I had grave reservations. Would I remember the prayers? Should I get communion? Would it just make me feel more guilty? And it was everything I didn’t expect. Within the first 40 seconds I closed my eyes and drew in all the sounds and smells to discover that I was home. Y’know how that first cocktail you have on an empty stomach when you just got off a particularly tough day at work, and the muscles on your shoulders just melt? It was like that. The homily was about coming back to Jesus, even if you feel you haven’t been close to Him. The deacon talked about the three ways to serve God: Praying, Being, and Doing. If you are committed to praying in your day, being a good person, and doing things that let others know you are trying to espouse His tenants, then that’s all He wants us to do. And that is helping me realize a few things about me.

1. I’m squandering every gift I’ve been given. If I’m not happy being overweight, and feel uncomfortable dating men at this size, I’ve been given the constitution to change that. I’m just not using it.
2. My attempts to downsize my lifestyle and pay off my debts have been largely half hearted. I’ve been doing stupid shit like dining out for lunch 3+ times a week, spending $60+ each weekend on intangible b.s. that isn’t improving anything about my life in any way. (Drinking, saying stupid shit, then going home alone is losing it’s appeal.)
3. I have got to stop waiting for life to happen, because the more I wait, the more I realize that NOTHING is going to happen. That in and of itself is not so bad; being cognizant of this and still watching things pass me by is criminal.
4. Stop wasting all the wonderful things in your life.

And so, these next few months of waiting are ushering in some positive changes in my life (NO pun intened). If nothing else than the fact that I’ve felt homeless since last May, but I now know I do have a place to go and feel safe and whole, and that’s all a home really is to begin with.

Prayers For Rain

Though it wasn’t my resolution to post more, I will admit that since nablopomo, I haven’t done much with this site. I’ve been busy.
1) I was in a relationship
2) My relationship ended
3) I am now convinced that I have contracted HIV

Let me explain. I haven’t had many sexual partners. I have had intimate relations with 3 men in my life. Lost my virginity at 20, had a boyfriend for 4 years, then I met this last man. I thought I was entering a committed relationship and so I took care of business. I went to the doctor and put myself on the pill. The end. Having never really dated much, I just didn’t think about STDs. I mean, I asked him when he was last with a woman, and if he had ever been tested for STDs. He relayed he hadn’t had sex in 6 months and claimed that due to his gastric bypass, he has to get a full physical every year, including bloodwork. And I believed him.

I won’t go into the gory details, though I will say I have a penchant for falling for the loveable loser-the underdog who has great intentions but maybe hasn’t made the best of his life. Don’t get me wrong, this man owns a home, is self-employed, and appeared to take care of himself and his family, but he often called me “college girl” and my acerbic, sharp wit would often puncture his ego at the drop of a hat. And I fell for this guy. We had sex for about 2 and half weeks, many many times. Remember, I hadn’t been with a man in almost 2 years, and I was so taken in with the fact that he was really a man! I mean, my ex was 3 yrs my junior when we met and was only 26 when we broke up. This last guy was 37 years old. Very different, in a good way. So not only was I excited about FINALLY finding a partner, I was also extra eager at all the different, new ways I found myself with this man. And then the bottom fell out.

He really wanted to meet my parents so I set something up for Christmas Eve. A few days before he mentioned how his 17-yr-old daughter was looking forward to it too. Wait, what? I just thought it was too soon to get all La Familia involved, and actually was only setting up the meeting to begin with at his own behest. I’m good w/my folks not being a part of my personal life. I’ve got nothing to hide, but I’m also not of the opinion that coupling up somehow validates a person, so why get the opinions of loved ones all up in my bidness? Though I was completely open to the fact that dating a man with children was going to add another dimension to the relationship, I was ready. Or I guess I thought I was. I found that the number one way to piss someone off is to tell them you weren’t expecting their child/children to attend an event you invited them to. And, as I said before, the bottom fell out. Well, more like exploded.

Things did get a little ugly; I was very hurt but determined to stay away. I am of the mind that you can never talk your way out of “dumped”, and if things were that precarious to begin with, it did not bode well for the long haul. I’m not trying to find a husband, but I’m also not looking for Mr. Right Now. Then the panic attacks set in. AFTER things went south I asked him how many people he’d been with, like ever. His reply? “Too many to count.” And how many women had he slept with in the past year? “Six or eight.” Did I mention I was having panic attacks? I went to my doctor for an HIV test, which came out negative. I was told that HIV cannot be detected until 3-6 months after having contracted it. I’ve already counted off the weeks on my home calendar, which will put me at my second HIV test during the week of St. Patrick’s day. And the panic attacks rage on.

I understand the chances of a 32 year old woman who has had intercourse with 3 straight men in her life, and has never taken intravenous drugs, or engaged in other high risk activities is rather low. That thought NEVER enters my mind at 10pm when I’m certain my lymph nodes are aching as the HIV virus is even now replicating in my veins. And my thoughts then turn to the following:
1. How am I ever going to find a partner if I have HIV?
2. I won’t be able to have children
3. How will I tell my family?
4. My life will always carry the stigma of an HIV infection
5. I will never live to be 70
6. I know that I will die in a hospital of a painful and horrible disease

This is about the time I start breathing like I’ve run a mile, my chest tightens to the point of implosion, and my legs MUST WALK FORWARD, which is tough to do for any length of time when you live in a crackerbox “studio”-read efficiency- apartment. And this has filled my evening for the past 2 weeks. During the daytime I can disguise my anxiety fairly well, but there have been a few occasions where I have succumbed to tears at the thought that my life as a healthy person has largely been taken for granted and I now have no future to look forward to. I just thought that I was taking care of myself. Doing the adult thing by getting on the pill. I didn’t understand that at my age, other precautions must be factored in. I just didn’t understand.


Now, I just WANT TO KNOW! And if I am still negative, I WILL try harder to do positive things with my life. I WILL NOT feel sorry for myself. I WILL take more chances on life. I WILL NOT have ANY unprotected sex until a prospective partner has taken an HIV test at LEAST 6 months after we are together. Please, please Lord. Give me that chance.

NEXT!

Made it through another holiday season-barely. I just always get so depressed during the holidays, but this year I’m trying to reach out more and not just stewing in silence. That’s tough for me to do b/c my very first reaction to anyone ever asking me “what’s wrong?” is “NOTHING!”, even as I’m laying in the fetal position, murmuring and rocking from side to side. But this is not a new thing. I’ve had my bouts of melancholy, and they mostly have to do w/feelings of isolation, and that is always exacerbated by the holiday season, as if being a single, nobody-wants-me loser is somehow more manageable during the other 50 weeks out of the year. And yet somehow it is…. ?? But you can’t peg it all on “nurture”, or some kind of fatalistic, self-fulfilling prophecy. Every year my mom loves to tell the story of my fourth Christmas whereupon the 2nd attempt to rouse me in order to celebrate all the joys Christmas morning has to offer, I stomped into the living room, sulkily tore open all my gifts, grabbed the natty Oscar the Grouch doll I had schlepped everywhere for the previous year (fitting, eh?), and stomped back to my room where I slammed the door shut behind me. I guess I was just destined to be a Grinch.

Now, you may say that I wasn’t ALWAYS single during the holidays, what with me previously being in a 4-yr relationship, but my folks and my ex didn’t get along. I’ve always wanted to go to midnight mass with someone I loved. I want to sit with my family on Christmas Eve while sipping on homemade hot chocolate (not that powdered crap that comes in pouches), or eggnog AND be able to adoringly gaze into the eyes of my sweetie. Or maybe giving that “Clint Eastwood” squint of mine for any behavior that is not Nieto-approved. Ha ha! I’m just saying that I’m not looking for perfection, but I just want to feel whole on Christmas. Not fragmented by having a loving family beside me and a boyfriend in another town, or vice versa because what ends up happening is that no matter where you are, or who you’re with, you always feel guilty when you’re spending time with one and not the other. And that was how every special occasion always felt while I was coupled up. (Except Valentines Day-parents have no place in all that.)

And this year was particularly difficult b/c I did, in fact, have a boyfriend when the Christmas season BEGAN, however I came out the other side single as the day I was born. I’m not good at breaking up; I do the whole woman thing of “how did I fuck that up?” with little to no regard for the fact that our goals, perspectives on life, and personalities in general are largely incongruent. But he was 6’ 3 and he had green eyes!!! Sigh….. I did learn that there’s just no way I can date a man who already has kids. This guy only had one of his girls, who was 17-yrs-old and was actually a sweet, cool, well behaved kid. And I STILL couldn’t handle that shit! If I don’t want to hang out in a mall for 4 hrs on a Saturday, then I DON’T WANNA! I don’t care if he promised her she could take a couple of friends to do her Christmas shopping, when all I want to do is go home, pop in a DVD and lounge around so that I can curl up in my baby’s arms, smooch, and I can pet his fuzzy tummy to my hearts content. But nooooooooo. I made the best of it; we people watched mostly, but it didn’t make me happy. That was never going to get better.

And I’ve been so down for the past two weeks that despite the fact that I am packed to the gills with booze (beer, vodka, AND wine) and have nothing but time on my hands as I am on my Christmas vacation, I got drunk exactly one time during the Christmas holidays (thank you much, Eric, you’re a king among men!), which just doesn’t fit. When I get upset I just can’t seem to make my mouth work. No really! I don’t want to eat, or drink, or talk, or anything. I just want to sit and NOT eat and NOT drink and NOT talk. (Only plus, I’ve lost 7 lbs!) This is why I just turn inward; who the hell wants to hang out with someone who won't open their mouth? I didn’t even go out for New Years Eve! Despite a couple of invites to do shit, I elected to stay at home (and not eat, drink, or talk). And on New Years Day I guess I finally turned that corner because for some stupid reason I started drinking beer at 2:30 in the afternoon and didn’t stop until midnight. The week and half of paid vacation was all spent sober and sullen and I decide to give myself a hangover for the first day back at work! Did I mention that I also have THE meeting with THE bigwigs on Friday, and have to get all kinds of stats together for a presentation? In two days. Well…now one b/c I only sobered up around 2pm this afternoon.

I’m thinking 2008 is going to be my year to make awful decisions, but at least it’ll be better than ’07 when I didn’t make any decisions at all.